


going back to the beginning to start anew

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beginnings, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Jackson Comes Back, Kid Fic, Multi, Past Jackson Whittemore/OFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5498606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life changes. Sometimes you have to go back to the beginning and try all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	going back to the beginning to start anew

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Prompt #151 Fresh Start at fullmoon_ficlet. For some reason, every time I think about starting over, I know it’s going to do with Jackson.

The thing about tragedy is that it forces a person to change, whether they want to or not. And after six months of hell, Jackson’s ready for a change. He’s ready for his entire world to turn upside down, even if doing that means going back to the beginning and starting over.

They’re a half hour away from their destination when Sophie wakes up, stretches as far as she can before leaning forward to tap Jackson on the shoulder. “I haveta pee.”

“We’re almost there.” He answers by rote; he doesn’t want to stop now, half afraid that if he does, he won’t actually get started again, won’t cross into Beacon Hills and find the apartment that matches the key in his pocket. He’s never seen it, has to hope it’s really as decent as the realtor said it was and that he’s not bringing his kids into an unsafe situation.

Maybe his in-laws were right.

Fuck that, his in-laws were _not_ right. He’s the best option for his kids; they should be with their father, not with the woman who tried to kidnap them in order to keep them in New York.

“I _really_ haveta _go_ ,” Sophie whines, wiggling in her seat. The motion joggles the car seat in the center of the bench seat behind him, and Marcus wakes up, crying. Sophie leans over, inhales and makes a face that Jackson can see in the mirror. “And Marc stinks.”

Fuck.

“Next rest stop,” he promises, because he is not going to make his daughter pee on the side of the road. He just hopes she can manage to hold on until they can find a place to pull off.

Five minutes later he passes the sign welcoming them to Beacon Hills County, and he pulls off to park his sensible minivan in the closest parking space to the McD’s that happens to be in this rest stop. They’re still twenty-five minutes from the town, and probably another fifteen minutes after that of navigating through unfamiliar streets to find the new place.

And now that Sophie’s spotted the yellow arches, he knows he’s not getting out of here for less than a Happy Meal and extra fries.

He tucks his phone in his pocket, unhooks the Marcus from the car seat, and locks the car.

This isn’t the homecoming he’d planned when he left for London years ago.

Hell, he’d never really planned on coming home at all.

#

Sophie pulls at Jackson’s hand, trying to get him to move faster. “School’s gonna start soon! I’m gonna be late!”

He’s trying to juggle getting Marcus on his hip and the diaper bag onto his back. He lets go of Sophie’s hand for just a second and she manages to get two steps before he snaps, “Sophie Emerald Whittemore!” and she stops in her tracks.

She turns back slowly, eyes wide and bright green, tears shimmering at the corners, and now Jackson feels terrible for making his daughter cry on the first day of school. He lowers himself slowly to a crouch, motions with his free hand for her to come over while Marcus babbles _bababa dadada_ in his ear. “Sophie, do we run in parking lots?”

She sniffles and shakes her head.

Jackson takes a breath, lets it out slowly, making sure his eyes are still green and worry hasn’t brought out the wolf from under his skin. “Why do you think Daddy yelled at you?”

“Because I started running in the parking lot.” Sophie sighs. “I _know_ Daddy, but these are all Mommies and Daddies, too. They’d be watching out for me.”

“Maybe not, honey, maybe not. We have to be careful when we walk in parking lots.” He comes to his feet and offers his hand, taking hers carefully. As they head into the school, he hears chatter all around them, tries to filter it out and ignore it, but there’s so much of it and it’s all so new that his wolf senses are unwilling to settle down.

“Bye, _Dad_!” The one word is drawled sarcastically, and a teenager almost bowls Jackson over on her way to the parking lot. He turns as she passes by, carefully keeping Marcus safe even while his nostrils flare and he growls before he thinks better of it, eyes flashing bright blue.

She stops dead, turns on her heel and looks at him, her own eyes flashing briefly yellow. She tilts her head. “Well, that’s gonna be a surprise.” She raises her voice, yelling, “I’ll text later!” then races out, heading for a disturbingly familiar blue Jeep.

It can’t possibly be the same Jeep, since that was half a lifetime ago when Jackson was barely sixteen. But it sure as fuck looks like it, and it comes to life like it’s being raised from the dead before she pulls out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

“That’s why we don’t run in parking lots,” Jackson says, and Sophie nods soberly. Life lesson learned, she points to the office and leads Jackson there, urgently reminding him the whole way that the day is _starting_ and she needs to get to class _now_.

#

“We only have one class for each grade in this school,” Mrs. Partridge tells them, her heels clicking against the tiled hallway as she leads them down to one end. “We have two other combined classes—a two/three and a four/five—for special needs students. Some students need a little extra supervision or help, and we do understand that.” She looks from Jackson to Sophie, then back again, and Jackson gets the feeling that there’s something she isn’t saying.

“Sophie will be fine,” he says. “We’ve never had any trouble in school.”

Mrs. Partridge clucks her tongue. “Well, there’s something about growing up that does add stresses to a body, doesn’t it? But don’t worry, Mr. Stilinski is one of our best teachers, and he’s wonderful at bringing children through that transition from kindergarten play to the rigors of a daily education.”

“Did you say Stilinski?” Jackson blinks to keep his eyes from flashing, and Marcus makes a small sound of concern while Sophie squeezes his hand. It can’t be the same one; it’s almost impossible to imagine Stiles Stilinski surrounded by six year olds.

Until Mrs. Partridge opens the door and there he is, crouched down on one knee to look at something a little boy holds out to him, while children mill around him.

One girl meets them at the door, her dark hair pulled back from her face in dozens of braids. She blinks quietly at Jackson, tilts her head, then nods once before turning to look at Sophie. “I’m Angelina and I’ll show you where to put your stuff. Mr. Stiles says we all have to hang our things up properly.”

Sophie glances at Jackson, and he squeezes her hand gently when he sees the first signs of nerves in her worried gaze. “Everything’ll be all right,” he assures her quietly. “This is the best school in the county.” The realtor had highly recommended that he send Sophie here, and Jackson went with it, even though as a private school it’s more expensive than he really wants to spend right now.

Sophie holds out her arms, and Jackson sinks down quickly to wrap one arm around her, getting a kiss on his cheek and letting her kiss Marcus as well before she runs off with Angelina. He can hear them talking about Bratz dolls while they hang Sophie’s things up in the closet and stow them in a cubbie apparently already labeled with her name.

And by the time he stands up again, Stiles is right there in front of him as Mrs. Partridge introduces them.

“No introduction needed; I remember Jackson Whittemore,” Stiles says, holding out his hand, his grin flashing bright. “We actually went to school together a long time ago. It’s been forever.”

The smile isn’t what he expected, but Jackson will take the familiarity of it. He clasps Stiles’s hand, grips it firmly for just a moment. “We just moved to Beacon Hills. And Sophie…” Jackson’s voice trails off, lost as he watches Stiles lean in, poking a finger at Marcus’s nose until Marcus grips it with his chubby hand, holds on tight and pulls.

“Jemma, can you get the kids rounded up for circle and go through the morning routine with them?” Stiles nods at where the kids still mill around. “See if you can get Robert to put the centipede back in the jar he brought in. I just need to talk to Jackson here for a minute, then I’ll take over.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Partridge’s smile is gentle, and she claps her hands, getting the attention of the children while Stiles motions for Jackson to join him in the hallway.

“If you give me your number, I’ll pass it along to Lydia, and we can set something up for dinner.” Stiles has his phone in his hand, snaps a quick picture of Jackson with Marcus, then taps the screen and waits until Jackson slowly says his number and Stiles saves it.

“This isn’t what I expected today.”

Stiles smirks. “It’s not what I expected either, but it’s good that you’re here. I’ll make sure Sophie’s on our list of special students, and you won’t have to worry about anything. Any triggers I should know about, or is she still too young? Every kid is different.”

Triggers. What? Oh. _Oh_. That’s what _special_ means here. Jackson refuses to admit that he had no idea that the school caters to supernatural students, so he just shakes his head. “Too young,” he says, and Stiles nods as if he makes complete sense.

“We can talk more about it later. I’m sure changing schools mid-year is a big upheaval for her, even in first grade. I’ll have Lydia get in touch with you.” Stiles reaches out and clasps Jackson’s shoulder, squeezing it even as he looks toward the room where there are shouts of _Mr. Stiles_. “I have to go.”

“Right.” To teach. Jackson’s daughter.

Change is good, they say, but it also leaves turmoil in the pit of Jackson’s stomach, twisting and churning to the point where Marcus whines and Jackson hurries to get them both out of the building. He just needs some time to come to terms with everything. He’s just getting used to being in Beacon Hills; he’s not ready to re-integrate yet.

#

Jackson plugs the address Lydia sent into his GPS and it brings him to one of the suburbs, on a street filled with barely unique houses and white picket fences. He pulls into the driveway next to that same blue Jeep, rust marking the sides and a dent that he recognizes in the side panel.

“Are we really having dinner with Mr. Stiles?” Sophie chirps. “Is this where he lives? He says he has two dogs, three cats, and two kids, Daddy. That’s a lot of people in one house. Is that the Jeep from the girl this morning? Does she know Mr. Stiles? Do you think she babysits? I need a babysitter because you should go out. You are a weird Daddy that stays home all the time.”

Jackson undoes her seatbelt, gives her a hand down from the seat before he reaches back in for Marcus, who blinks one eye before falling back into sleep. “Yes, we are really having dinner with Mr. Stiles and his wife; they were my friends when I was a teenager and lived in Beacon Hills. And I don’t know who the girl was, but that does look like the Jeep, and you can ask if she babysits.” The idea of leaving his children with a teenager that he doesn’t know fills Jackson with dread—he remembers all too well what it was like to lose his children once. But that’s in the past, and shouldn’t come up ever again.

Sophie darts ahead. She’s halfway across the lawn when two streaks dart toward her. One looks to be a boy around the same age, and the other is clearly more wolf than dog, yipping as it leaps onto the boy, rolling over with him until they smack into Sophie and take her down as well.

She doesn’t cry. By the time Jackson gets there, Sophie is laughing and pushing at the wolf licking her cheek, while Stiles has yanked the door open and yells sharply. “Lindsay, inside, _now_.” The wolf whines, and Stiles growls—a fair imitation of a wolf—and the wolf hangs her head and walks inside.

“We were _playing_ , Daddy,” the boy insists.

“I’m okay, Mr. Stiles,” Sophie rushes to assure him.

Stiles glances past the kids to where Jackson stands, his arms around Marcus, a diaper bag on his back, and Jackson blinks back at him.

“Come on in,” Stiles finally says, pulling the door open wide. “Jason show Sophie where to get cleaned up for dinner.”

And just like that, Jackson heads inside, having the feeling that the step over the threshold is one of the most important he’ll make.

#

Jackson learns that Lindsay is a foster daughter, orphaned from another pack and attending Beacon Hills High. She plays Lacrosse and is pleased to report that Coach is still there, and still mostly incomprehensible. As soon as dinner is over, Lydia asks her to take the children and Lindsay offers to take Marcus as well.

Jackson’s gaze lingers on the doorway as they leave.

“They’re only upstairs, Jackson, not half a world away,” Lydia says dryly.

“When Anna died, her parents tried to take my kids,” he says quietly. “A month ago my mother-in-law resorted to kidnapping—she picked Sophie up from school and Marcus from daycare—and she disappeared. We found her in the Hamptons, and I got a restraining order and they had to drop any petition for custody. But yeah, I’m not good at being separated from them.”

He can’t read the look that Lydia and Stiles exchange, but Lydia sets one hand over his, and Stiles pours him another glass of wine. Jackson isn’t sure he should continue to indulge, but one more glass won’t hurt. Not when he figures they aren’t moving for a few hours yet.

It’s somehow easy after that, talking about Anna and the cancer, and the swift downward slide from diagnosis to death. Stiles talks about losing his mother when they were eleven, and Jackson realizes that he never knew, never understood what made Stiles go from happy to sullen that year.

They exchange wedding details, and Jackson pulls up a picture from his phone to show, while Lydia brings out a physical photo album. Somehow they end up squeezed in on the sofa with Jackson in the middle, the album on his lap as they go through it.

Lydia has albums going back a dozen years or more, and Jackson feels the rush of emotion to find the life he left behind there in the frozen images. He touches the pictures of graduation. “I should have kept in touch,” he says.

“You’re here now,” Lydia counters. “We can’t change the past, Jackson. The only thing we can control is the future.”

It’s the first time since Anna’s diagnosis that he sees hope for the future, other than the brightness that he sees in his children.

#

The Stilinski-Martin household becomes a second home. Lindsay does, indeed, babysit and is more than happy to have a chance to earn extra money since Jackson will pay her for watching Sophie and Marcus, while watching Jason is just part of being an older sister. And Stiles and Lydia seem more than happy to draw Jackson back into the world, helping him find his way to being a person in his own right, not just a father.

And it makes it easier to be a father as well, having others to lean on, having a backup plan when he needs it.

He can trust that Sophie is safe at school, even when she flashes her eyes for the first time, knowing that she is surrounded by kids and adults who understand. Sophie blossoms in the open atmosphere, quickly finding friends, and naming Angelina and Jason among her _best_ friends.

It’s funny how quickly Beacon Hills becomes their home.

Jackson is almost able to forget the past, to move on and start all over again, right up until the moment it comes crashing back. When he comes home from work and is just getting ready to take Marcus out of the car and he catches a whiff of a familiar scent.

Gardenias.

Roses.

Vanilla.

The memory of Anna bowls him over, but on the heels of that is the knowledge that her mother is here. Her mother who wore the same perfume, had almost the same scent.

Jackson takes note of the one rental car parked nearby, takes a picture of the license plate, then buckles Marcus in while quietly telling Sophie to stay put. He texts Lydia and Stiles before he pulls out; he knows they’ll be ready for guests by the time he and the kids arrive.

#

They stay at the Stilinski-Martin home for three weeks while the police force works to enforce the restraining order and remove Anna’s mother from Beacon Hills. Sophie thinks it’s wonderful staying in Jason’s room like he’s her brother, and Lindsay helps as much as she can.

Jackson stays up late every night, curled on the couch with Lydia and Stiles, taking the comfort that they give. When he realizes the date two weeks in—that it has already been almost a year since Anna died—and starts crying at the shock of the memory, they are there to hold him up, to help him to the guest room and make sure that he settles in comfortably.

When he can’t face work on the anniversary of Anna’s death, Lydia stays home with him, and Stiles takes Sophie to school. Stiles brings home pizza and makes no comment on the fact that Jackson’s eyes are still red from grief. They end up in a pile—the entirety of the Whittemore family intermingled with the Stilinski-Martins—and Jackson feels protected.

“There’s no point in you going back into that apartment,” Lydia says, two nights later, after the threat is finally over and Anna’s mother is gone. “We have room.”

“I’m taking over your guest room,” Jackson says. He has her foot in his lap, his thumbs digging into the arch while she makes appreciative noises. Stiles sits behind him, fingers offering soothing circles across his shoulders, and Jackson pushes into the touch.

“Then sleep in our bed.” Stiles says it as if they’ve discussed it more than once. Jackson can’t think when—he’d have heard any conversation in the house. But Lydia looks at him as if it’s a foregone conclusion, a perfectly natural extension of this friendship that’s developed, and when Jackson can’t find words to object, Stiles continues. “Besides, eventually Jason and Sophie won’t want to share a room anymore, so we’ll need that room for her. The bed is big; it’ll sleep three easily.”

“Platonically?” Jackson asks, and Lydia snorts loudly.

“Definitely not,” she tells him. “If you’re interested.”

He’s come full circle in this moment, sitting between the first girl he loved—the one who brought him back from the dead—and the boy he hated and who tried to keep him from dying in the first place. He would never have made it past sixteen without these two, and he walked away and never looked back.

But now here he is, being offered a second chance and a new beginning, and it seems so blindingly obvious that there is only one thing he can say.

“Yes.”

#

“I’m glad we came to Beacon Hills,” Sophie says, her small hand fit into Jackson’s as she skips along the sidewalk toward the front of the school. Her first-day-of-school dress swirls around her knees, her shoes clacking on the cement with every step. They move more slowly than Stiles and Jason, as Marcus toddles distractedly next to Jackson, a tight hold keeping the toddler from wandering off on his own.

Jackson sinks to crouch in front of his daughter, brushes her hair back from her face. “Are you happy here?” he asks, and he knows life hasn’t been easy, but it seems settled now.

She beams brightly, throws her arms around him and kisses his cheek. “Very,” she tells him. “Are you?”

Jackson thinks back to the night before, and to waking up in the morning entwined with pale limbs and soft skin and dotted moles that he can trace with his tongue. He thinks of sweet kisses and two pairs of hands and how easily it all came together and how good it is. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Very happy.”

“Good.” She tugs, stepping urgently. “Can we get inside? I haveta pee.”

Jackson scoops up Marcus, hushing his protests so he can carry him more quickly, waving for Sophie to move on ahead. Some things never change, he figures. And others, when they change, can become surprises and blessings he never expected.

Sometimes you have to lose everything and go back to the start. Sometimes, you just have to begin again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


End file.
